Tik Tok Shock
by moonswirl
Summary: Gleekathon, day five hundred and eighty-three: Maybe they should have seen this coming before they drank Rachel's concoction and went dancing.


_Started my daily ficlets to make the hiatus pass, then decided to keep going with a 2nd cycle, and then a 3rd, 4th, etc through 27th cycle. Now cycle 28!_

_**A/N:** Okay, so at the moment I'm slowly starting to plot out the next maybe three or so cycles, which is at least 63 new stories, and before I do this I wanted to ask you guys if you had anything you'd wish to see written, suggestions... Also, what would really help, if you have ideas for concepts for sets (like I've done the alphabet (twice), colors, sins and virtues, episode titles, etc), let me hear 'em! (via private message, if possible!) Thanks :) - **UPDATE! I'm going to be planning the next five cycles, which will take me through to September. So if you have ideas/wishes/anything, now is the time to speak up! :)**_

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><p><strong>"Tik Tok Shock"<br>Brittany/Santana **

The rest of them had given her, Brittany, and Rachel a wide berth, no doubt not wanting their own stomachs full of Rachel's devil concoction to make them sick, too. Rachel herself had made a dash for the showers to clean what was on her before she risked adding some of her own. This left just the two of them, to fare on their own, and the question didn't need to be asked. Santana would take care of her, knowing she probably felt… well, like crap… she did, too.

Brittany was just standing there like she didn't know what to do with herself. She didn't have too much on her; the bulk of it had gone on Rachel. "Britt," she moved to her, grossed out by the taste in her mouth and trying desperately not to let that trigger anything.

"I don't feel good," she frowned.

"I know, come on," she took her by the arm and guided her out into the hall, sidestepping Schuester and insisting they'd be fine. She could feel everyone around them, who'd left the gym by now, watching them one moment and backing away the next. Santana so desperately wanted to give them a piece of her mind, but it was all she could do not to be sick again, so she had to hold her words. The effort was even more pronounced when presented with Azimio and Karofsky and their attempts at cleverness. At the very least the distance they were allowed would guarantee they'd have the bathroom to themselves.

She really wished they had some kind of paper cup dispenser at that moment. Instead they had to lean in and use their hands for cups which, they soon discovered, wasn't a favored approach when one was trying to let their stomach find rest again. They barely managed it though, and eventually they could feel the awful taste grow weaker, though it was still very much there. Santana grabbed paper towels and handed some to Brittany. She ran the paper under the water, cold, before looking up at herself in the mirror. Her face was caked with dried gray streaks.

"I'm going to kill her…" she shuddered.

"Santana…"

"Okay, well can I at least mess with her locker?" she sighed, starting to wipe at her face.

"San…" She thought it was just her calling her by nickname until she heard retching and understood she was actually cut off mid word.

"Damn…" she muttered under her breath and turned to find Brittany had dashed into one of the stalls. She went back to the sinks, made quick work of cleaning her face before grabbing more towels and soaking them with cold water. She went back to the stall, finding Brittany had stopped, though she remained near the toilet, sat on the ground. Santana crouched at her side, and she felt her stomach drop, not from the queasiness. Brittany looked positively ill, clammy. "Guess dancing doesn't go too well with that stuff we drank… And you dance more than a few of us combined…" she tried to make light, though she just hated to see her this way.

"I can hear the ocean…"

"Yeah?" Santana entertained her; it was better she focused on that than anything else right now… although she hoped that wouldn't somehow cycle back to motion, and sickness, and… Okay, now she had to stop, too. She put one cold towel to the blonde's forehead, used one of the others to wipe her face carefully. She looked up when she felt Brittany's eyes on her.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asked quietly. Santana gave her a smile.

"Working on it," she promised, lifting her chin so Brittany would lift hers and she could continue with the cleaning off. If anything could help her steady her stomach it was probably not thinking about it and focusing on her instead. Of course where she focused on caring for Brittany, the blonde just focused on her, watching her… It was distracting.

"How clean do you think the floor is?" she asked.

"Not very, but it's kind of too late now, right? I remember, one time Miss Pillsbury found me sitting down here and she looked like she wanted to dash out of here which, she did, but not until she'd given me a long list of the diseases I was probably going to catch."

"What were you doing on the floor?" Brittany asked, obedient to whatever direction as Santana kept cleaning her face.

"It was Monday. It was a good weekend," she shrugged, then frowned. "If you don't count the…" She didn't say the word, seeing how that could only trigger more of the same thing, same as what she was trying to clean off her. And now Brittany was reaching for one of the other wet towels, arm crossing with Santana's as she took up some cleaning of her own, this time on Santana herself. "Feeling better?"

"Kind of," she confirmed. After a moment they just sat there, arms in their laps, still not confident in moving. Santana stared back at Brittany.

There was so much she wanted to tell her, things… things she didn't even know how to tell herself yet. She could feel it, all of it, inside her, but… if she ever tried to put any of it into words, she just… couldn't do it. The words wouldn't come. It was like trying to remember a song, and you knew how it went, but you couldn't remember the words… So you played it over and over in your mind, trying to shake something loose, but it wouldn't happen… And as long as you stayed there, wordless, then it was impossible to figure any of it out… You were stuck.

Sometimes she'd see this look on Brittany's face like… she knew exactly what she meant, but she couldn't think of the words either… Or maybe she did. She wouldn't know, because she couldn't bring herself to ask her, to talk to her about it. All she knew was if she pulled back the door too much, everything would rush out… like Pandora's Box or something.

Even then, even if she tried something, then what would happen? She'd have to make some kind of decision, right? Suddenly they'd make her be one thing, or another thing… they'd make all the decisions for her, tell her where she fit. She didn't want that… she just wanted her.

"Santana?" Brittany brought her back to reality. She looked back at her.

"Yeah?" she answered.

"I don't want to be Ke$ha anymore, I want to be Brittany." Santana smiled.

"As you wish."

THE END

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><p><strong>AN: This is a one-shot ficlet, which means that signing up for story alert will not bring you any alerts.  
><strong>**In the event of a sequel, the story will be separate from this one. And as chapter stories go, they are  
><strong>**********always clearly indicated as such [ex: "Days 204-210" in the summary] Thank you!**********


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